


Power

by Gemmiel



Series: Touch Me [7]
Category: Free!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, another in an endless line of sequels, bottom haru, makoharu - Freeform, more or less anyway, plot usually works its way in somehow, power bottom haru, top makoto, touch me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:36:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmiel/pseuds/Gemmiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though the question of love is not yet settled between them, Haru and Makoto are becoming more comfortable with the sexual aspects of their relationship.</p><p>A sequel to my story "Trust."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sixth installment of "Touch Me." I meant to write a story about Haru and Makoto's first date entitled "Light," but instead I seem to be writing a little PWP about Haru's first foray into being a power bottom, entitled "Power." I am going to try to keep this short, entirely plotless, and totally free of things like angst and backstory and character building. Heaven only knows if I will succeed:-). I haven't forgotten their first date, though; I will get to "Light" once this is done!
> 
> Also, "Trust" wound up with over 300 kudos! Thank you all so much for the nice feedback!

_Tomorrow, I want to be inside you. Like this._

Tachibana Makoto still can't quite believe he said those words. When he lets himself think about it, he feels like he's somehow become a whole different person in the last week, like he's gone from being a Nice Boy to being--

Well, horny all the time.

Not _horny,_ he objects to himself. Not exactly. It's not like he wants just anyone, after all. He only wants Haru. And that's natural, isn't it? People in a new relationship often go through a period of, well, intense physical activity. That's perfectly normal.

He sighs. Regardless of whether it's perfectly normal or not, he can't seem to get his brain under control. He can't stop himself from thinking about Haru on top of him, sinking down onto him, surrounding him, hot and tight and--

And... this is not the place for his fantasies. He's on a train wending through Tokyo, for God's sake, caught in a close-pressed sea of people, and the last thing, the absolute last thing, he needs is... well, the physical reaction he gets when he thinks about making love to Haru.

 _Think about something else,_ he tells himself firmly. _Anything else. Swimming in cold water. Snow in the winter. All the studying you have to do._

_Picking up Haru and shoving him against a wall, and..._

No. No, no, no. 

Makoto sighs.

It seems like the train ride home is getting longer every afternoon.

*****

When he walks into the apartment he shares with Haru, it's still and quiet. He knows from the texts they've exchanged that Haru won't be home till after seven. It's his day to work out in the gym.

Makoto thinks about Haru sweating as he lifts barbells, his skin glistening with sweat, and he moans a little.

"Get a grip," he mutters into the silence. He can't sit here and think about Haru all afternoon. He has to take advantage of this time to get his studying done. After all, he really needs to get all his work finished up before Haru comes home, because Haru is, well...

Distracting.

It's kind of silly, really, because he and Haru have been friends forever. For that matter, he's been in love with Haru forever, or close to it. That is, he's loved Haru for as long as he's known him, but he actually _fell in love_ with him sometime during adolescence-- around the time he was fourteen, maybe. And for all those years, he managed to keep his hands off Haru. Well, except for clutching his shoulders when he was scared, and offering his hand to help Haru out of the pool, and wrestling matches, and...

Okay, maybe it's a bit of a stretch to say he's kept his hands to himself. Over the years he's come up with an awful lot of excuses to touch Haru-- not that Haru's ever objected. But it's different now, because Haru is actively seeking out touch now. Instigating it, even. Like the other night, when Haru came into the apartment and pretty much threw himself at Makoto. He'd had a terribly difficult time saying no, even though he'd known Haru had to be starving after all that swim practice. But it had been seriously hard to resist the feel of Haru's eager hot mouth against his throat and his arms wrapped around Makoto's neck, not to mention the way his lithe body felt when it pressed against...

Makoto moans again. This isn't working, damn it. He can't hope to focus on his homework when he can't stop thinking about Haru. It's like his brain is tuned to an all-Haru-all-the-time station, playing the same irritatingly catchy tune over and over again, and somehow he just can't turn it off. The only way he can quiet his stupid mind and his stupider body is...

Well, to have sex.

But Haru isn't going to be home for _hours._ And by that time, he's going to be a total and complete wreck.

Makoto growls as he throws his backpack aside, and admits to himself that yes, he _is_ horny.

He never thought of himself as that kind of guy. He's spent years, after all, pining after a boy who only thought of him as a friend, and yet he never felt like he was overflowing with hormones. He never felt the slightest desire to have sex with anyone else in order to burn off sexual energy. He had pretty much resigned himself to living without sex forever, and even to living without so much as a kiss forever, and it hadn't really bothered him that much. Until the events of this last week unfolded and he suddenly found himself kissing Haru. Making out with Haru.

Not to mention having hot sex with him as frequently as humanly possible.

Makoto growls again and stalks across the apartment, restless, fidgety, on edge. He needs sex, in a way he isn't accustomed to, with an intensity he doesn't understand. It's dumb, really. Haru will be home in a few hours, and then they can have a nice dinner, and when they're finished eating and studying, the two of them can make love. Sex really ought to be one of those things the two of them can pencil into their schedules, like writing papers and attending lectures. After all, it's not like the world depends on him having an orgasm at this precise moment. Three or four hours from now should be just fine.

Unfortunately, his traitorous mind isn't listening to him. He imagines Haru sinking down on him, his body hot and slick and tight. He imagines Haru biting his lower lip in concentration as Makoto slides inside him. And suddenly he realizes how freaking hard he is. His cock is pressed against the denim of his jeans, twitching and pulsing with a demanding heat, like he hasn't had sex for weeks. 

Which is ridiculous, because the two of them have had sex every day this past week. They made love less than twenty-four hours ago, for God's sake. Well, sort of. He wouldn't let the smaller man talk him into actual intercourse, because he'd known he was a little uncomfortable, and Haru can't afford to get too sore to swim. Even so, what they'd done last night should have been more than enough to wear them both out. It had been great. 

But the problem is, he just can't seem to stop himself from thinking about...

His hard-on is so insistent now that it's almost painful. He considers the issue and decides that the smart thing to do would be to switch into sweatpants, so he's not rubbing up against all that denim. Probably that's most of his problem, right there. It's not going to go down by itself when his every move rubs it against tight fabric, after all. He stalks into his bedroom, digs out an old pair of soft, comfortable sweats, and throws them on the bed. Then he unfastens his belt, unbuttons his jeans, and unzips them, slowly and carefully.

The relief of freeing himself from his denim prison pulls a soft exhalation of pleasure from him. He steps out of his jeans and tosses them on the floor. (Haru, who's a neat freak, will complain about that, and he makes a mental note to pick them up and put them in the hamper after he's done getting changed.) He's wearing briefs-- usually he's a boxer guy, but this morning he put on navy blue briefs with a vague idea that they were sexier, and that Haru might like them better. They're pretty tight, the fabric stretched tightly over his erection, and there's a wet spot on the dark fabric where he's leaking precome.

Being cradled by all that tight soft fabric probably isn't helping his issue, either. He should've known that sexy wasn't for him. After another moment of thought, he decides to switch into boxers. After all, he can always change back into briefs just before Haru gets here. He hooks his thumbs into the elastic waistband and eases the briefs down over his erection, very slowly and carefully. The soft material drags down along the swollen flesh, and his cock twitches, spilling out a little gush of precome. He can't quite bite back a moan.

That really feels kind of good, he thinks. It brings a memory to mind, himself mouthing Haru through the fabric of his underwear, exploring his heat through the cotton, running his tongue up and down his--

It makes him wonder exactly how that felt, how it might feel if Haru ever did it to him. He stops pulling his briefs down, and experimentally squeezes himself gently through the fabric. It's an oddly muted sensation, but he likes it. It's kind of a relief, really, just like getting those damn jeans off. It's not like he's going to jerk off or anything, but a little bit of pressure helps dull the ache a little.

He recently did a lot of research on the internet about sex, and he remembers reading that men can, well, calm themselves down a little by squeezing the base of the penis. He figures maybe that will help get rid of the ache entirely. Can't hurt to try, anyway. He grips himself with his finger and thumb and squeezes gently.

His cock twitches, and more precome spills out. He's so wet now that he's not sure he can put on the sweatpants-- the wet patch will show right through. Suppose someone comes over or something? That would be embarrassing. He decides the briefs are getting in the way, and shoves them down, kicking them off. Then he grips himself more firmly, squeezing pretty hard.

It actually helps a little, and his hard-on stops twitching so frantically. It's just as hard and red as ever, though. He decides it might help to use his whole hand, so he wraps his hand around himself and squeezes.

And blushes bright red as he hears a low, deep moan rise from his chest.

The pressure against his erection is good. It's so good. He squeezes again, very careful not to move his hand up and down. He jerked off approximately a million times during his adolescence-- all that sexual energy had to go _somewhere,_ after all-- and he knows how to do it, how to make himself come fast and hard, hand moving up and down rapidly, twisting just a little at the head. He's not trying to come now, though, just to get rid of this stupid erection, so he doesn't move his hand, just squeezes himself near the base over and over again.

It feels good, but not like jerking off. Not quite. His cock isn't twitching as much, but it looks more swollen than ever, and he wonders if maybe he's cutting off circulation or something. That wouldn't be good, so maybe he better try something else. He moves his hand up a little, and gasps at the pleasure that bursts through him. His hips spasm involuntarily, driving his cock into his encircling fingers, and he whimpers softly.

He's a little sore from everything the two of them have done together lately, and it occurs to him that a little lube would probably feel good. The truth is that he never used to jerk off using lube--mostly because his mom would have killed him dead if she'd ever found lube in his room. And if Mom hadn't found it, the twins would have, and then probably would have displayed it to his parents at the dinner table and innocently inquired what it was. All of these possibilities had made him perfectly willing to muddle on without it, despite the hazards of chafing.

But he knows now how good it feels to use lube. He used it while touching himself last night, after all, even if he didn't make himself come that way. And, he reminds himself, he's not going to make himself come right now, either. He's just trying to get rid of the worst of his problem, that's all. This isn't jerking off; it's just rubbing himself to get a little relief.

Which is totally not the same thing.

He sinks down onto the unmade bed (unmade because he was the last one to leave this morning, and he kind of forgot to straighten it out before he charged out the door) and reaches out for the lube, which is sitting on the nightstand. He drizzles some into his hand, then wraps his fingers around himself, and...

"Ahhhhhhh!"

He's more than slightly embarrassed by the noise that escapes him. It's one thing to make that kind of sound when he's with Haru, but when he's all alone he tries to keep it quiet. Living with younger siblings who might come investigate the smallest sound has always meant that he keeps himself silent, even during the most breathtaking climax. The simple touch of his hand against his hard-on shouldn't make him moan like that, not even when he's holding himself so tightly that it's an incredible relief.

Suddenly weak, he falls back against the mattress and gives up on the squeezing thing. It's not really helping, anyway. He needs something a little more... intense. He lets his hand stroke up the shaft, very, very slowly, and watches with avid interest as a thick glob of precome oozes from the head. He strokes downward, observing intently as the precome drips onto his belly. 

That feels better, he thinks. Much less achy. His problem is pretty much taken care of, so he should probably stop right now. Yeah, he's still hard, still dribbling precome, but it's not like he's twitching and throbbing any more. He's fine.

But maybe just one more stroke.

He does it again, watching with odd fascination as another bead of precome rises out of him. He's never really observed his body's reactions before-- jerking off for him has always been a hasty fumble in the darkness, beneath the covers, where his family can't catch him. And since he moved in with Haru, the thought of being caught has embarrassed him (and, to be perfectly honest, excited him) so much he's always quickly jerked off in the shower.

He's never really done it slowly and methodically. He's never really _watched._

He moves his hand down, caressing all the way down the thick, swollen shaft, and the bead of precome trembles, then slowly drips onto his stomach.

He remembers doing this last night in the dark, for Haru. The way he could hear Haru panting in the darkness. He could have come all over the smaller man, all over Haru's abs, all over his chest, if he'd wanted to. And Haru would've _liked_ it. Haru likes everything. He's so much more into this than Makoto had ever expected, so ready to try new things. It's a little surprising, because Haru is usually kind of conservative in his approach to life. He likes what he likes-- swimming, mackerel, bathtubs-- and scorns everything else. But apparently sex has been added to the list of Things Haru Likes.

Makoto's pretty happy about that, actually.

Sex is definitely on his list of things to like, too. He trembles a little as he remembers his own voice, low and hoarse: _Tomorrow, I want to be inside you. Like this._

And that's what has him so worked up, isn't it? The thought of Haru on top of him. The thing is, he likes being on top. He likes controlling Haru, likes letting him come only when he allows it, likes making him beg for release. But the thought of Haru riding him, the thought of relinquishing some of the control to his boyfriend for the first time-- well, that's weirdly exciting too. Just the thought is enough to make him moan again.

He realizes his hand is moving faster and harder, so that hot droplets of precome are dripping steadily onto his abs. He seriously needs to stop soon, because this is really starting to bear a strong resemblance to jerking off. And he doesn't need to jerk off, not any more. He's got Haru.

Only Haru isn't here right now.

It dawns on him that he's feeling guilty about the idea of doing something about his hard-on without Haru's help. But that's kind of stupid, isn't it? It's not like he's cheating on Haru or anything. He's not even cheating on Haru mentally. After all, he's not thinking about his favorite movie star or a famous singer or any of the guys in his classes. All he can think about is Haru-- the citrusy scent of his skin and the low, hoarse sound of his moans and the ebony sheen of his hair. Haru's worked his way under his skin, so much deeper than he ever was before, and Makoto's not sure he'll ever get free of him again. He's pretty sure he doesn't want to ever be free of Haru, anyway.

Damn it, he can't stop this now. Or he could, maybe, but he doesn't want to. He _really_ doesn't want to. He jacks himself hard, watching his cock twitch, watching precome flowing from it, and imagines Haru slipping down onto the slick flesh, his body hot and tight. He imagines the squelching noise of their bodies sliding together, thinks about the way Haru whimpers and swears when he's nearing the edge, and his cock spasms, squirting out a really impressive spurt of precome.

He's so close now, but he pulls his hand away with a massive effort of willpower and stares at his own cock, red and swollen and bobbing up and down. It's impossibly hard, slick with lube and with precome, and there's a tension in his gut that's so intense that his thighs are shaking with it. 

_I should stop,_ he thinks for the fiftieth time, and then remembers that's stupid. Yeah, sure, he's got Haru, but that doesn't mean he's not ever going to jerk off again. Why shouldn't he? It's a dumb thing to feel guilty about. Haru knows he jerks off, for God's sake. Haru's watched him to do it right in front of him more than once. Haru jerks off, too. It's not a big deal.

And yet after years of hiding under the covers, after years of trembling with fear at the idea of his family catching him at it, it's not that easy to convince himself it's okay.

But he can't stop, not now. The throbbing pressure in his cock is too demanding to ignore.

He hears himself panting, his breath coming in unsteady, rapid gasps, and he makes up his mind. He reaches out and wraps his hand around his cock, and a long, resonant groan rumbles out of him.

And that, of course, is the exact moment that Haru pushes open the door to the bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me so long to get this up!!! I'll try to have chapter three (which I think will be the last chapter) up sooner. Thanks to you all for your patience, and as always I appreciate your kind comments and kudos!

Makoto squeals. Loudly.

He glimpses Haru's huge blue eyes for only an instant before he dives beneath the covers, yanking them over his head and huddling in the dark warmth beneath them. He knows that Haru saw everything-- _everything_ \-- and he also knows (on an intellectual level, at least) that this isn't really that big a deal. But after long years of stressing about being caught by his family, he can't help responding to his first instinct, which is to take cover and hide.

He's still trembling, his body racked by a strangely gut-churning combination of arousal and visceral humiliation. He's still hard, maybe even harder than before, but his heart is pounding against his ribs so fiercely he can barely draw a breath. He kind of hopes Haru will just close the door and quietly walk away, that the two of them can pretend this never happened, that Haru didn't catch him gasping and moaning and whimpering as he jerked himself off. 

But he should know better. It's Haru, after all. He hears the soft sound of feet padding toward him, and then a hand on his arm, closing around his bicep through the blankets. 

"I'm sorry," Haru says softly.

That isn't quite what Makoto expected, and he pulls the covers down just enough to allow one eye to peek out. Haru is standing next to the bed, looking down at him with grave blue eyes. There is no hint of amusement in his expression-- and no hint of arousal, either. He looks serene and unruffled, _placid,_ in stark contrast to Makoto's state of near-panic.

"Sorry?" he squeaks. "For what?"

Haru's hand squeezes his arm more tightly. "This is still your bedroom," he says, and his voice is still soft, and oddly gentle. It dawns on Makoto that he's trying to calm him, that maybe he's worried Makoto will freak out and bolt. Haru knows him well enough to know that he doesn't deal with embarrassment well, after all, and he's run away from awkward situations more than once. "I kind of forgot that I shouldn't just walk in without knocking."

"But--" His voice is still a squeak. He tries to lower it back into the normal range, with limited success. "We've been sharing it for, like, the last week."

"Still." Haru sits down next to him, his hand still warm and reassuring on Makoto's arm. "You're entitled to some privacy, Mako-chan. So am I. We'll have to figure out some sort of system for when we need some alone time. I guess maybe this is one of those things people have to work out when they live together, huh?"

Makoto dares to peek his other eye out from beneath the covers. He knows his face is still flamingly red, but his embarrassment is beginning to ease, helped along by Haru's matter-of-fact acceptance of the situation as well as his calm voice. Haru often has a difficult time making himself clearly understood, and he can sense the other man striving to find the right words to put him at ease. He can't help but appreciate the effort Haru is making. "I-I guess," he stammers. "I m-mean, I would've locked the door, but I thought you weren't coming home till later."

"Yeah. I should've texted you and let you know, but... well, I thought I'd surprise you."

"You _definitely_ surprised me," Makoto answers, and Haru makes a soft sound of amusement.

"I didn't mean to give you a heart attack, though. I'm really sorry, Makoto. I just... I was thinking about you all day, and I finally decided to..."

"To blow off working out?" Makoto tries for a stern expression. "You can't skip lifting weights just because you feel like it, Haru-chan. Your coach is going to kill you."

"I'll take the train back over to the gym," Haru says with a sigh. "Later. But right now, I just want to..." His gaze drifts down Makoto's body, which is still hidden beneath the covers, and his eyes blaze bluer than before. 

"I guess we were both thinking the same thing," Makoto says, feeling a small smile tugging at his mouth. "I started thinking about you, and I... well, I couldn't wait."

"Yeah." Haru nods seriously. "I couldn't wait, either."

Makoto feels himself relaxing. He lets go of his defensive curl, and stretches his long body out beneath the covers. He's not quite as achingly hard any more, but he's still definitely turned on, and Haru's warm presence right next to him is starting to make heat twist in his gut again. He reaches over and takes Haru's hand in his, interlacing their fingers.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you on the train," he says softly. "Thinking about you being, you know. On top of me."

Haru's eyes flare brighter than before. "Me too. You were all I could think about, and eventually I decided I just better come home."

He reaches out and hooks a finger under the covers, slowly pulling them down. Makoto clutches at them for a moment, but then gives in and lets them go. Haru tugs the covers down over Makoto's torso, which is okay because he's only exposing Makoto's t-shirt. But when he reaches Makoto's waist, Makoto grabs for the covers again.

"I want to see you, Mako-chan." Haru's voice is soft, almost hypnotic. "I've been thinking about this all day."

With an effort, Makoto relinquishes his grip on the covers. His cheeks flare hotter than before as Haru pulls them down further, exposing his-- 

Yeah, he's still hard. Maybe not quite as close to the edge as he was before, but it's more than obvious he's aroused. Haru stares at him, a scalding intensity in his eyes, and Makoto shifts against the mattress, feeling his skin heat till he's sure he's bright red again. The way Haru is looking at him makes him feel really...

He can't find a word sufficient to complete that sentence. He feels exposed, desirable, vulnerable, desperate, all at once.

"Haru," he says. His voice is a rasp. "Can you-- do you think you could--"

Haru reaches out his graceful hand and strokes a finger along the underside of his swollen cock, from root to head. It twitches, without any input from Makoto, and he can't hold back a ragged gasp. Haru watches his reactions closely.

"This is a problem, though," Haru says, with something very close to humor in his voice. "You're ready, and I'm not." He looks up from his thoughtful contemplation of Makoto's cock, his eyes bright, almost mischievous, beneath his overgrown bangs.

Makoto is more than _ready,_ but he decides that's too obvious to comment on. "I could--" he tries, but breaks off with another gasp when Haru strokes him again.

"I don't think so," he says. "I mean, you got yourself ready, so I should probably get myself ready. It's only fair, right?"

The thought of watching Haru slowly open himself up with his fingers wrings a shudder from Makoto. He tries to come up with an articulate response, but only manages a faint groan.

"Glad we agree." Haru rises to his feet and begins peeling off his shirt-- not a slow striptease, but not his usual quick, efficient removal of clothing, either. He pulls it over his head, exposing his heavily muscled chest, and throws it aside. Makoto stares at him, feeling the heat in his body beginning to reach the boiling point. 

Haru unbuckles his belt and pushes his jeans down, and Makoto watches hungrily as his long, powerful legs are bared. Haru is still wearing a pair of briefs, but Makoto can see the mouthwatering bulge in the fabric. He moans.

Haru adds the jeans to the growing pile of clothing on the floor and looks down at him solemnly. There's no hint of a tease in his expression, and the mischievous glint Makoto saw in his eyes has faded into the deep blue depths. In fact he looks so serious that Makoto suspects this is a deliberate effort to put him at ease by exposing his body, the same way Makoto was exposed to his gaze.

If so, it's working. Makoto is entirely over his discomfort at being caught in the act, totally focused on his boyfriend's impossible beauty. 

"Go on," he says in a harsh whisper.

Obediently, Haru tugs the briefs over his erection and peels them down, kicking them aside. His cock is perfect, long and lean just like Haru himself, rose-pink and gleaming, and Makoto imagines Haru riding him to completion, imagines watching that gorgeous cock spurt thick ropes of come all over his belly. His own hard-on twitches violently at the thought.

When Haru wraps a hand around himself and begins slowly stroking himself, Makoto moves restlessly against the mattress. There's a tremendous ache deep in his balls, and his hips won't stay still. He wants Haru so badly it's driving him crazy.

"Haru-chan." His voice is so hoarse it doesn't sound like him. "Haru, come _on._ "

Haru looks at him, his eyes as serious as ever, but his lips curve, so subtly that no one else would notice it. "You know it doesn't work like that, don't you? I can't just..."

Makoto recognizes his own words being parroted back at him. He's told Haru to be patient so many times, made Haru wait for his release, insisted on setting a torturously slow pace whenever they make love, and now--

Well, he doesn't want to slow down. He wants to be inside Haru, wants to come, _right now._

But the little part of him that's still sane and sensible knows that Haru is right. This is a new position for them both, and Haru has to make sure he's completely ready, has to prepare himself carefully, or he might wind up injured, or at least really sore. And that's the one thing Makoto won't allow to happen, no matter how desperate he is for release. Haru is his to protect.

He draws in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to get a grip on himself.

"Okay, Haru-chan," he answers. "Take all the time you need."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this yesterday, but I was a little uncertain as to whether it was decent or not. This is a really difficult kind of scene to write well! No one commented, so I took the chapter down because I was anxious about it and thought maybe I was right and it wasn't very good, or maybe it was simply too crass, and so I wanted to give it another round of edits after I'd had a night to think about it. Having looked it over carefully, I don't think it's terrible, but I'm worried maybe you guys didn't love the bad-sex aspect of it. I do generally write sex as fantasy, so even though it starts as awkward fumbling sex, it won't end that way, I promise. I do apologize for not finishing the story up in this chapter-- I'll see if I can't get the final chapter up today or tomorrow! I also apologize for posting it twice... chalk it up to anxiety issues *shrugs*. We all have our moments when we doubt our writing ability, I guess!

Haru is the most beautiful thing Makoto has ever seen.

He can't take his eyes off the other man. Haru is completely naked, totally unselfconscious, and he has one knee resting on the mattress and one foot on the floor. His left hand is wrapped around his beautiful pink cock, and with his other (thoroughly lubed) hand he's reaching around behind himself and--

"Unnhhh," he grumbles, looking annoyed. "This is harder than I thought it would be."

Makoto is still sprawled on his back, watching intently. Despite the need racking his body, he can't help uttering a soft laugh. "I told you, you're tight."

"It's not that, it's the angle. I can't-- ugh. I need longer arms or something."

"Get on the bed," Makoto says, and Haru does what he says, automatically, without even a quick flash of resentment in his eyes. Makoto thinks that Haru is getting good at this submissive stuff, and then instantly wants to slap himself. He needs to quit thinking that he's always the boss in their relationship, that he always has all the power in these situations. He and Haru are _equals,_ damn it. He's not in charge, in bed or out of it.

Except he is, kind of. And yet it's just as true that they're equals. It's confusing, and he can't quite make sense of it in his head. He sighs, and turns his mind back to the problem at hand.

"I figure maybe if you kind of kneel..."

Haru tries it, facing toward Makoto and sitting seiza-style on the bed. He lifts himself to a more upright position, then arches his back, reaching behind himself with his right hand, and--

"Unnnhhh," he says again, but this time he doesn't sound annoyed. His eyelids drift shut and his mouth falls open. Makoto swallows, all his amusement suddenly evaporating into the sudden heat that floods him.

"Remember to take it slow," he says, recalling Haru's unfortunate tendency to barrel full-speed toward the finish line, so to speak. 

"I am." Haru's voice is soft, and lower than usual. "I haven't even-- ahh, _Makoto--_ "

Makoto's cock, which is resting against his belly, gives an eager twitch. He's still impossibly hard, and he very much wants to grab Haru and sink balls-deep into his hot, tight body. But he knows he can't do that, not yet. Haru has to be ready, so that they can both enjoy this equally.

Makoto lies there, trying to be patient, and watches the muscles in Haru's shoulder shifting beneath the skin as Haru explores himself, learning his own body. There's a look of intense concentration on his face. His dark, long eyelashes flutter, and his breathing grows more and more unsteady.

"Maybe if you spread your legs a little," Makoto says. His voice is so hoarse he hardly recognizes it as his own.

Haru tries it, parting his thighs a bit, leaning forward and resting his weight on his left hand, flat on the mattress. His right hand continues to move, exploring cautiously, until he gives a soft gasp.

Makoto nearly groans with frustration. He desperately wants to see what Haru is doing, but he also wants to watch his facial expressions. From this angle he can only guess what Haru is doing to himself, and it's driving him crazy. Haru's expression of surprised wonder, along with a soft squelching sound, makes him think that Haru's managed to slip a finger inside. 

" _Slowly,_ " he says again, in as firmly commanding a tone as he can manage.

Haru's head arches back and he whimpers, a helpless little sound so evocative of intense pleasure that it's almost enough to make Makoto come then and there. He grits his teeth, trying to get himself under control.

From his point of view, Makoto can see movements suggesting that Haru is slowly sliding a finger in and out. He imagines being inside Haru himself, thrusting deep into Haru's heat, and the thought drags a low, deep groan from his chest. He wants Haru, wants him so badly, in every way possible...

"I think--" Haru sounds like he's having a difficult time getting words out. "I think-- think I can take-- a second finger now--"

"Slowly," Makoto says again. "There's no hurry, Haru."

"My fingers-- aren't as big as yours--" He moves his hand, does something with it that Makoto assumes is sliding in a second finger, and his eyes clench shut as he gives a long, wavering cry.

"Haru! Are you okay?"

" _Fine--_ ahhhh, ahhhhhh, _Mako-chan--_ "

His voice rises and his face contorts, and Makoto can see the pink cock jerking hard. He's pretty sure that Haru has found his sweet spot.

"Haru," he says sharply. "Slow down."

"Can't." Haru is gasping for breath now. "Fuck, _fuck,_ Makoto--"

He knows that Haru rarely swears except when he's on the verge of orgasm. "Haruka!" he snaps, putting all the authority into his voice he can muster. "Stop!"

Haru utters what sounds like an anguished sob, but he obediently halts the motion of his hand. Still stretched out on his back, Makoto looks up at him, seeing the fine sheen of sweat gleaming on his body, the way he trembles all over, the way his chest is heaving furiously. Typical, he thinks with mingled annoyance and amusement. Already Haru's in a frantic drive for the finish.

"You're not going to come," he says, very gently but very firmly, "until I'm inside you. All the way inside you. Understand me?"

Haru nods. His bangs, wet with sweat, fall into his eyes. "Please," he says, very softly. "I need you, Makoto."

"I don't think you're ready yet," Makoto says. And it's true. On one level, obviously Haru is way past ready. But whether his body is actually stretched enough, relaxed enough, to accept Makoto's intrusion yet-- he doubts it. Haru's still new at this, and it's too soon.

"It's not my fault you have a giant whale dick," Haru grumbles.

Makoto snorts, amused by Haru's uncharacteristic crudeness. Haru in bed, he thinks, is very different from Haru out of bed. "Well, you're stuck with my giant whale dick, I'm afraid, unless you want to find someone else."

Haru's eyelids flutter open, and he looks at Makoto with wide eyes. "No," he says, his voice soft but sincere. "No one else, Mako-chan. Not ever."

All at once Makoto remembers Haru's voice saying softly, _I can't imagine it being anyone but you._ His eyes sting, and suddenly he has to blink away tears. He knows Haru doesn't love him, not the way he loves Haru, but sometimes, when the other man looks at him like that, he can almost imagine...

 _Stupid,_ he tells himself harshly. _You're being stupid. Just because he wants you doesn't mean he loves you._

"Okay," he says, struggling to not let his complicated snarl of conflicting emotions reflect in his tone. "If you want me, then you have to get ready for me. Try it again, only this time don't push your fingers inside so far, and kind of, um, scissor them."

Haru frowns. Makoto can see the muscles in his arm flexing as he tries to follow the instructions. "That doesn't feel all that great," he complains.

"Does it hurt?"

"No, but it's not awesome, either. It's just..." He rolls his shoulders in a shrug that eloquently expresses indifference.

"Be careful, and don't hurt yourself, Haru." Makoto wets his lips with his tongue, and speaks as bluntly as he can. "I'm not going to make love to you until I can slide inside you easily."

Haru moans softly at the words, and Makoto can see him moving his hand a little harder. Haru's cock is a lurid shade of pink now, gleaming with precome. Makoto reaches out and grabs the lube from the bedside table, squirts it into his palm, and starts slicking his own cock with it. Haru's eyes lock onto the movement, watching hungrily as Makoto's hand slides up and down.

"Unnnhhhh." The sound is somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and Makoto knows Haru's found his prostate again, despite his instructions to the contrary. "Makoto... please... fuck me..."

"Okay, Haru." Makoto draws in a deep, steadying breath, trying to get control over himself. It isn't easy. "Come here."

Haru shifts on the bed, wiping his hand on the sheets, and then he straddles Makoto's hips. He takes Makoto's hard-on in his hand, biting his lip in concentration, and tries to sink down onto it. Makoto hisses at the contact of their bodies, and his hips automatically buck upward, but Haru's body doesn't yield to him. 

Haru bares his teeth, looking annoyed, and tries to shove himself forcibly onto Makoto's cock. Makoto yelps and grabs for his hips.

" _Slowly,_ remember? Take it easy, Haru. You're going to hurt yourself." _And possibly me as well,_ he refrains from adding out loud.

"It's not working." Haru's voice is sulky, the way it used to get when he was in high school and couldn't find a warm body of water to swim in. " _Damn_ it. I really want you, Makoto, and I can't--"

"Easy. Easy." Makoto is nearly as frustrated as he is, but he's determined not to show it. He lets his hands fan out over Haru's hipbones, stroking the sharp jut of bone gently with his thumbs. "Calm down, Haru-chan. I think it's probably the same problem as last time. You've tensed up again. It never works right when you're tense, you know?"

"I can't help being tense. I can't relax this way."

Makoto considers the problem, and begins to understand the issue. Since Haru's on top, his legs have to bear his weight. Somehow Haru has to figure out how to keep his thighs taut and relax his ass at the same time-- which, now that he thinks about it, is probably not all that easy. 

"Take it easy, Haru," he says again, very gently. "It'll be okay, I promise. We'll figure this out. Together."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually kept this story pretty short! I don't think I totally succeeded in keeping it free of plot, angst, and character development, but I did manage to mostly focus on the smut, and it didn't wind up too heavy. I'm pretty happy with the way it turned out, and I hope you are too.
> 
> Also, please note the numbering of this series has changed. I added in a second prequel called "Summer" (which is still a WIP), which means this story is now #6 in the series. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this, and thanks again for all your kind words and encouragement, especially when I had one of Those Days. Your kindness is much appreciated!

"Easy, Haru. Take it easy."

Makoto has said those exact words three or four times already, in the most soothing voice he can manage, but it's not helping much. Haru is trembling, tense, so keyed up that he's apparently incapable of relaxing. As much as Makoto wants to feel Haru sliding down onto him, taking Makoto into his hot, tight body, he's not sure it's going to happen, this time at least. He's starting to think maybe he should just shove Haru over onto his back, let him wrap his legs around his waist, and--

But no. Desperate though he is is for release, Makoto is nothing if not patient. He's pretty sure this isn't a terribly complex or difficult position, even for guys as inexperienced as they are. They should definitely be able to figure this out. If he can just get Haru to calm down a little...

He's still lying flat on his back, with Haru kneeling over him, facing him. He moves his hands from Haru's hips and lets them slide down over the taut thighs, rubbing gentle circles. Haru sighs a little, and Makoto can see some of the tension slip away from his lean frame. _That's it,_ he thinks. That's all Haru needs, a warm touch and a soft voice to help him relax a little.

His fingers trail up the inside of Haru's thighs, where he's already figured out the other man is very sensitive. Haru gives a long, heartfelt moan. His eyes drift shut and his head drops back. 

Makoto can feel the hard muscles beginning to ease beneath the satiny skin. He keeps stroking, softly, tenderly, until Haru's back begins to arch. Makoto's hips move in an automatic response, rising upward, and he feels the head of his cock brush between Haru's ass cheeks and kind of... _catch_ there. A bolt of desire stabs into him, dragging a low rumble of need from his chest.

Haru wraps a hand around Makoto's cock and sinks down, and suddenly--

The abrupt pressure of Haru's body surrounding the sensitive head of his cock is almost more than Makoto can take. He utters a high-pitched, desperate sound, struggling to keep himself from sharply thrusting upward. It feels so good, _so good,_ and all at once he needs Haru so badly he can't stand it. But he remembers how tense Haru was, and knows he can't risk hurting the smaller man by pushing too far, too fast. Haru has to be the one who decides how this is going to proceed. This time, Haru needs to be the one with all the power.

He grits his teeth and whimpers and holds perfectly still.

"Makoto." Haru's voice is hoarse and low. "You're so big, but you feel so good..."

Makoto lets his hands fall away from Haru's thighs, for fear of bruising him, and digs them into the sheets instead. Damn it, Haru _knows_ what a sentence like that does to him. Lust hits him harder than before, and he shakes violently with the effort of holding still.

Haru slides down onto him just a little more, taking in maybe a centimeter more of his length. Makoto's mouth falls open and his fingers tear helplessly at the sheets. "Haru... _Haru..._ "

Haru lifts up, moving in what Makoto thinks is entirely the wrong direction, so that Makoto slides almost all the way out of him. Then he slips back down, impaling himself on the swollen head again. He does it again and again, so that he's basically fucking only the very tip of Makoto's cock, very, very slowly. It's almost more than Makoto can take, and he gasps and moans and writhes helplessly. The lemons-and-oranges scent of Haru's skin fills his head, making him dizzy. 

He needs more, needs to sink all the way into Haru, needs Haru to ride him hard and fast. He knows he can't stand much more of this. His chest heaves as he struggles for air, and he can feel his skin growing wet with sweat.

"You're so beautiful like this," Haru says softly, and Makoto shudders. He's never thought of himself as beautiful-- he's just an ordinary-looking guy at the best of times. And right now he's certainly far from lovely, considering he's dripping with sweat, his hair plastered lankly to his head. But the sincerity in Haru's soft voice, the idea that Haru really and truly finds him beautiful, is almost enough to make him come.

Frantic need gnaws at his belly, sharp and hungry. Ravenous.

"More," he growls. " _More,_ Haru."

Haru sinks down onto him another centimeter, and all at once Makoto understands that Haru has been waiting for instructions, that even when they're in this position he still wants Makoto to direct him, to guide him. And maybe that's a good thing, because Haru is reckless and headstrong by nature, too inclined to ignore his body's objections to discomfort, and he's perfectly capable of going too far, too fast and hurting himself. He needs someone to hold him back until he's totally ready.

Makoto takes a steadying breath, lets go of his death grip on the sheets, and allows his fingers to curl into Haru's hips again. 

"Can you take a little more, Haru?"

"Think so." Haru's voice is ragged, but he pushes down a little more. Makoto is almost halfway inside him now, and the physical sensations-- _so hot so tight so wet_ \-- are almost overwhelming. He fights against his instinctive need to move, reminding himself that he's the one in charge here.

And yet he's not the one with the power, not really. Maybe this time, neither of them is really in charge. He remembers his own words: _We'll figure this out. Together._

He closes his fingers around Haru's hips and pushes gently upward, encouraging him to rise up. Haru lifts himself, then slides back down, slowly taking in a little more of Makoto's length. The bed creaks softly, and they groan in unison.

Haru does it again, and this time Makoto finds his grip on his self-control beginning to fray. His hips jerk, thrusting upward, and suddenly he's so deep inside Haru, and it feels so incredible--

Haru arches his head back and gives a long, quavering cry, and Makoto's fingers instantly dig into his hips, holding him still.

"Haru! Are you all right?"

"Fine," Haru gasps. "It's good, Mako-chan, it's _so good--_ "

His hands wrap around Makoto's wrists for balance, and then he begins to move, slowly but steadily, riding Makoto with more confidence. Reassured, Makoto lets himself respond, gives in to instinct and allows his own hips to move, and a few moments later he finds himself buried all the way inside Haru's heat. It's so incredibly intimate that it makes his eyes prickle again.

He wants to slow down, to make sure that Haru is okay, that this isn't uncomfortable for him, but Haru moves on him harder, faster, and Makoto can't hold himself back either. His spine arches hard, driving his hips upward, and he knows he's rapidly losing control.

"Haru. _Haru!_ "

Haru, he thinks, is impossibly gorgeous like this. His muscles ripple beneath his sleek skin with every movement, his face is alive with pleasure, and his eyes shine more brilliantly blue than ever, so bright they almost seem to be glowing with an inner light. Makoto can see Haru's thighs beginning to tremble, can feel his own abs tensing. The bed is starting to creak steadily beneath their straining bodies, and the scents of sex and sweat and citrus hang heavy in the air. Makoto's hands dig into Haru's hips harder than before, hard enough to leave bruises, and he can't stop himself from thrusting fiercely.

He needs this, needs it so much. He's ached for a release from his desperate tension all afternoon, and the fact that Haru needed him just as much, so badly that he blew off his weight training and came home --

Well, the idea that they're so much in sync makes his throat tighten and his heart pound wildly. Maybe it's not love that Haru feels for him, exactly, but it's more than simple lust. Of that he's certain.

He remembers Haru's quiet, solemn voice: _No one else, Mako-chan. Not ever._

The memory sends a flare of heat through him. All at once he's close, too close, and he's afraid he's going to leave Haru unsatisfied, so he lifts a hand away from the other man's hips and wraps it around the swollen pink cock, stroking gently but firmly. He feels Haru's hips stutter, feels him lose his rhythm as he tries to thrust into Makoto's hand and ride his cock at the same time. Makoto doesn't mind the slight awkwardness. He remembers watching his own hard-on's responses with interest, but watching Haru is so much more compelling. He can't stop staring, can't look away from Haru as his cock jolts hard and his face contorts.

"Makoto, ahhhh, yes--"

Makoto thrusts upward, hard, and stares avidly as Haru surrenders to pleasure, throwing his head back and crying out with unmistakable rapture. He can't stop watching as Haru's cock twitches and jerks, spurting out long, white jets of come, so hard that some of it spatters onto Makoto's chest. His inner muscles squeeze in tight, relentless spasms, and Makoto can't hold himself back any longer. A sweet rush of fire runs up his spine and along all his nerves, and he cries out, coming with violent force deep inside Haru as a fierce possessiveness unfurls within him.

 _Mine,_ he thinks with the last of his strength. _You're all mine._

And then he doesn't think anything at all, for quite a while.

*****

When he comes back to himself, Haru is flopped on the bed next to him, as boneless as a jellyfish on the beach. Every line of his slender body expresses total contentment and utter satiation. Makoto can't help but smile a little at the aura of satisfaction that almost visibly radiates from him.

"You okay?" he asks, pretty sure of the answer.

"Better than okay." Haru heaves a long sigh. "That was great."

Makoto grins. "I'm glad you found my giant whale dick satisfactory."

Haru blinks at him, and then abruptly an odd noise comes out of his mouth, a noise Makoto has almost never heard from him. It takes him a moment to realize that Haru is laughing. No-- _giggling._ Haru is giggling like a little kid.

Haru must be as shocked as Makoto feels, because he claps a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide.

Makoto stares back at him. Haru virtually never laughs-- tickle fights are the rare exception to the rule-- and it's a pity, because the sound of his laughter is the most adorable thing in the world, childlike and joyful and thoroughly delightful. _I made him laugh,_ he thinks. _I made him so happy that he laughed._

"Sorry," Haru mumbles behind his hand. His cheeks are turning red.

"Don't," Makoto says, reaching up and taking Haru's hand gently into his. "Don't apologize. I like seeing you happy, Haru."

Haru looks at him for a moment, then his long black eyelashes sweep down, veiling the brilliance of his eyes. Despite his obvious effort to suppress his laughter, a smile still trembles visibly on his lips. The sight makes Makoto's heart ache with adoration. He thinks to himself that having the power to bring Haru pleasure is a great thing, but discovering that he possesses the power to make Haru laugh out loud might just be the most amazing thing that's ever happened to him.

Warmth swells inside him. He wants to tell Haru how much he loves him all over again, wants to tell him that making him happy is all that matters to him. But he knows Haru doesn't want to hear another confession of love, that Haru doesn't return his feelings. Not yet, and maybe not ever. And after all, confessing again won't change anything. Haru can't love him, and he-- he can't stop loving Haru.

His feelings for Haru, he decides, are too complex, too messy, to bring up right now. He doesn't want things to go back to being complicated or awkward or strange between them, to screw their relationship up again, when the two of them have finally gotten back on an even keel. It's really better, he tells himself, if he doesn't even think about all that stuff right now. Besides... he doesn't want to ruin this moment. 

This one single, perfect moment, in which Haru is so happy that he's smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sequel (and hopefully the finale of this series) will be called "Light."


End file.
